


Home Improvement

by Macx



Series: Imperfection Deviation [26]
Category: Transformers (Bay Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 17:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2159493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macx/pseuds/Macx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a former Sector Seven experiment goes out of control at the Autobot base, it's up to two humans and one hybrid to stop it. At all costs. Sam, Trent and Will are up to their eyebrows in trouble. Deep, dangerous, mortal danger trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home Improvement

Early morning light filtered through the smeared windows, blurred and still without much strength. The sun had just risen, chasing away the night and warming the freezing cold desert. No one had taken a rag to the windows in ages and the current occupants didn’t bother with them either. The overground hangar was simply for entry and storage, as well as to access the main areas. The more secure part of the base was underground.

A lot of work had been put into remodelling what had been only for humans in the past years. The underground area was by now several times the former size and ran deep into the earth. Aside from storage and personal quarters, the recharge units, the main lab, the secure lab and the secure storage had been moved there.

Will Lennox shuffled out of his loft apartment, clutching a mug of steaming hot coffee, squinting into the morning light. He yawned, jaw cracking, and wondered why he had actually gotten up that early. Last night had been long and filled with cramming his brain full of mech anatomy and trying his Cybertronian on the nifty language computer program Ratchet had developed for the humans. It was kind of addictive, pulling him in, making him work hard on improving his skills and still liking it.

With a few swift key strokes he opened the medium-sized hangar door to let in some more light and air, shivering as the cold hit his exposed skin.

Runes flitted over the tanned forearms like upset little moths, crawling over his skin, sinking deeper and disappearing, then reappearing in another place. Lennox followed them with distant interest, aware of what the readable ones said. It was nothing extraordinary. His eyes fell on the permanent marking around his wrist, Ironhide’s name, and he smiled a little.

He sipped at the black liquid as he watched the sun thaw last night’s frost. Winter in the desert was an icy cold affair at night. They even got smatterings of snow when it was really cold, and the mountains turned into snow capped peaks in the distance.

Normally he went for a morning run, but that had to wait until he was caffeinated enough to coordinate his limbs. He was almost alone at the base. Optimus and Ironhide had flown to the Arctic station where everyone was working toward the construction of the Ghost-2. Ratchet was already there, hard at work, and it seemed that things would soon be ready to start on the secret space ship project. Jazz and Bumblebee had remained behind, keeping an eye on matters, patrolling. Since Sam was writing on his second dissertation, he had holed up in the base as well, telling Bumblebee to do whatever he wanted to, just not disturb him or else.

Lennox smiled to himself. He had chosen to remain behind as well since human Allspark rune billboards would only disturb the scientists at the Arctic station. Not that he had been overjoyed with the prospect of going there anyway. There was nothing to do but be in the way, so he could at least do something useful around the base.

Epps had split his men up in three groups and was running them through a training course two States over. With so many new people, the core unit had its hands full to get everyone up to speed on battle skills. Especially telling friends from foe. As Epps had put it: ‘Those shooting at you are the enemy. Shoot them.’

It meant no one fighting over the last cup of coffee, whose duty it was to cook, make more coffee or clean up. Epps had already paved the way with the Pentagon and Banachek to bring in food specialists, people to take care of the personal and culinary needs of the unit. Since even a simple cook was never just a simple cook in the military, the selection process was just as complicated as it had been for the fighting troops. Thankfully Lennox didn’t have anything to do with that particular problem.

It was almost eerie how silent it was now, he mused.

Peace and quiet.

Nice.

There was a sound from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder, not overly alert.

Lieutenant DeMarco walked into the kitchen, nodded a greeting at him, and wordlessly poured himself a coffee. There was an almost blissed-out expression on his face when he drank it. Either the man had no nerve cells left in his mouth or he had mastered the art of gulping down hot, caffeinated liquids as fast as possible.

“Late night?” Lennox asked casually.

“Kinda.”

Will knew how much had been dumped on their logistician. In order for the base to operate successfully, the proper materials, equipment, and people needed to be in the right place at the right time. Trent developed, reviewed, and implemented plans for coordinating many different variables such as requirements for and availability of supplies, equipment, personnel, and transportation. With the almost regular shuttling of Autobots and men to and from the Arctic base, he was busy as never before. Trent worked together with the Nellis Air Base to coordinate flights, which was, as always when two different bases tried to coordinate in detail, a drag – especially since the Autobot base was a secret no one was allowed to talk about.

“Need help?” Will offered. “I wield a mean calculator.”

Trent chuckled. “Give me a few hours and I’ll take you up on that offer. Bowman mailed me a list of flights they are going to run through us, loading and unloading equipment for us and the Arctic station, and it’s impossible to coordinate. Not even O’Hare would be able to manage that many flights in such a short time. And since this base is supposed to be top secret, having transporters land and take off at such regular intervals is bound to be noticed. That’s what Nellis is for.”

“How about sleep?” Lennox queried.

“Later. After I’m done inventorying the lower levels. It’s still a mess.”

Will chuckled. “Give me a clip board. I’ll help. Nothing else to do anyway and we should detour around Sam until he’s done with his second dissertation.”

Trent grinned knowingly. “I hear you. He nearly tore me a new one when I asked him if he wanted lunch yesterday.”

He emptied his, by now second, cup, refilled it, and walked off with a nod and a, “I’ll holler when I need help”.

Emptying his own cup, Lennox walked back, stretching. Shower, coffee, shave, third coffee, newspaper, more coffee, and then he would tackle what was next on his agenda.

Sounded like a plan.

Too bad that plans were made to be ignored or changed.

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Sam cursed his professor for bringing up the idea of a second degree, himself for thinking it was actually a good one, the authors of incomprehensible books, the looming deadline, and the fact that his treacherous mind was more happy to play with the real stuff than to pour over theory. Books were boring; books were no challenge. Books showed only diagrams and had formulas and mind-breaking math and physics, coupled with people who were trying to explain simple things in complicated ways.

The real stuff now… there was something that could keep him busy until he couldn’t but tear himself away because he was minutes away from hypoglycaemic shock. Whenever he used technopathy for an unduly long time, Sam needed to refill his energy reserves, which meant chocolate or other sugary goodies. There was a huge stash of Mars bars, M&Ms and whatnot at the base. Even Epps’ soldiers knew never to get in the way of a Sam Witwicky looking for sweets. Some even brought him the stuff when they recognized the danger signs.

Sam gave the books a baleful glare as he finished another chapter. He knew he was good with machines. It was instinct. He understood them thanks to the technopathy. Nothing too complicated, nothing too alien. Sometimes he needed a bit longer, sometimes he had to tread carefully, but it was fun and easy and so natural for him. Cybertronian tech was even more addictive. He already had his first Ph.D., but Professor Avery had come up with the challenge of a second one right after Sam had gotten his first in Mechanical Engineering. Since he had shown such talent and promise, and the government was funding Sam’s research and dissertation, Avery had dangled the very tasty morsel in front of Sam’s very active mind. Ph.D. in Biomedical, Industrial and Human Factors Engineering.

Shaking his head, he pushed the books and his notes aside, deciding he needed a break. There was no one to distract him, aside from Trent, who had kept out of his way after bringing him lunch, and Lennox, who he hadn’t seen for a while. The others were all away. It helped with studying, but it was hell on his need for company.

Sam walked past Ratchet’s lab and glanced inside. The medic was running several projects at the moment, all on hiatus, though. Since he was at the Project station, helping with the primary set-up of the construction of the Ghost-2, things at the base had taken the back-burner. Sam knew that Ratchet was mostly busy with the Sector Seven experiments, took them out of storage one after another to explore them, take them apart, look at their components. Some were strange, some were completely confusing, some were just freaking him out.

Something tickled his senses and he frowned. Entering the lab he let his mind brush over the dismantled devices, all inactive. They had never worked. On the second table was a storage box, open, filled with dead body shells. Sam never felt well around them and he tried not to sink his mind into the fried circuits if he could help it. All were Allsparked, all had been created in the last five years before the Autobots had arrived, and they had all been born angry and terrified and with the need to flee.

Again there was a little tingle, like something twitching, trying to wake up.

That couldn’t be. Everything was dead.

Sam climbed onto the table using the pull-down ladder that reminded him of fire escapes. They had been installed wherever a human might need to get up without a mech lifting him.

His mind tracked the signal and it didn’t come from the box but from something beside it.

Sam frowned at the device he found just behind the box. It was about the size of a human refrigerator, a dark gray, and had no casing. Cables ran from the device toward a dead body shell, like some kind of life support, and Sam shivered. The body shell was something he had seen before. It was the spider-bike, the thing that had come stuck in mid-transformation when Sector Seven had put it out of its misery.

The device next to it felt like some kind of scanner to Sam’s mind, plugged into what doubled as a brain for the human-created robot. Ratchet was apparently attempting to look into the minds of the primitive robotic forms. He had been surprised that the Allspark had never placed a true spark into any of the creations, but Sam had been glad it hadn’t. A spark was like a soul in his mind. It was what gave the mechs not only life but also sentiency, emotions, everything. Without a true spark the machine was just a machine. It reacted on instinct, almost primitive, and some never survived their first hours because the energy dissipated and left them dead husks.

“Sam?”

He flinched and whirled around. Lennox was standing in the door, looking at the table, frowning.

“You okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Working?”

“No. Just… I thought…” He shrugged.

Will walked into the lab. “Ratchet’s doohickey?”

“Something like it. I haven’t been in here since last month. I didn’t have time for anything but work.” Sam knew he sounded like a pouting kid and from Lennox’s expression, he looked like one, too.

Will chuckled. “Deadline’s when?”

“Two weeks, day after tomorrow.”

He had by now reached the ladder again and was about to climb down again when something spiked. It touched his senses with an almost painful sharpness and he froze.

“Sam?”

It didn’t come from the bike. It came from… somewhere else. In the box. Something was there. Waking up.

“Sam?!”

Sam shook his head and went back to the storage box, which was about the size of a shipping freight container. He pushed the door open and peered inside.

“Damnit, Sam!” Lenox could be heard from below. “What the hell is going on?”

“I felt something,” he called back. “It’s…”

Something crackled.

"What the ...?"

The pain came all of a sudden. It ran up and down his body like liquid fire and Sam screamed. His whole body seemed to glow and the pain was unbearable. An invisible force hit him and he was thrown across the table, colliding with the heap that had been a motorbike once. The wind was knocked out of him and he went down, gasping for air, unable to breathe for a second. Half conscious he lay on the ground, coughing and wheezing.

There was a distant squeal, like strained gears, then a loud bang.

Sam blinked, tried to sit up, and needed the support of the metal husk to get his body to stay up.

Another bang had him wince. Sirens started shrilling their alarm.

“Sam!”

The voice was familiar, but distorted, deeper, more resounding, more commanding, too. He barely had time to puzzle about it before he was grabbed in large hands. He was whisked off the table. His mind reached out, latched onto another, but it was weird. Alien. Not electronic, not truly organic.

“Will?!” he blurted.

Blue optics in a black, unfamiliar face looked at him. The mouth of the protoform mech twisted a little.

“Sorry for the rush. We got a problem.”

Sam’s brain was trying to get up there where the action was and finally shed the last cobwebs.

“What’s going on?” he demanded as they raced down the corridor.

“I don’t know what Ratchet kept in that box and what he did to it, but it’s out, it’s angry and it has fire power!”

Another bang drove that point home.

Sam cast his senses out, tried to pick up the only other mechanical life form he could possibly touch in the base, but he found nothing. Just regular machinery.

“It’s not a mech,” he said.

Will cleared the corridor and pushed the door shut behind them. He set down Sam.

“I don’t know what the fuck it was, but it’s mechanical all right.”

“But it’s not like the Autobots.”

A snort. “Hardly. It’s one of Sector Seven’s. I thought those things were all dead.”

“They are.” Sam rubbed his forehead, feeling a light headache creep up. “I mean, I never felt a single blip. Ratchet scanned them all before storing them away for further analysis. He said they were dead.”

“This thing looked very much alive to me.”

“What did it look like?”

The hybrid frowned, eyes narrowing a little. “Bigger than a breadbox, smaller than a car.”

Sam rolled his eyes and regretted it immediately. The headache flared. Great.

“Sam, all I saw were legs, canons and about six or eight optics. It bowled you over, flung you aside, started to shoot at me, then began to tear apart Ratchet’s lab.”

“Oh, he’ll be happy,” Sam muttered.

“I’d be happy now if we could contain the critter.”

The younger man massaged his temples. “Do you think you can grab it?”

“Well, I’m bigger,” Will said carefully, “but I’m unarmed. I can withstand some fire power. Ironhide’s been shooting at me enough that I developed a good shielding mechanism.”

Sam met the blue optics, smiling tiredly. “Then we start hunting for it.”

“No way are you coming along!” the former Army Ranger snapped.

“Will…”

The protoform hybrid went down on one knee, ice blue optics bright and hard. “No. You stay. That’s an order, Witwicky.”

“But…”

“You stay,” Lennox repeated, voice just as hard. “Get yourself a radio. You can talk me through the rooms.”

Sam clenched his teeth, the headache throbbing in time with his heart beat. “I can’t remote-scan, Will. It has no spark. Telling it apart from regular machinery would be near-impossible from afar.”

“I’m not taking you down there to get you killed!”

“I can take care of myself!”

There was a loud hiss of annoyance. Ice blue optics met determined brown eyes.

A crackle on the radio alerted them to the third occupant of the base.

“Lennox? Witwicky? What the fuck is going on?” DeMarco demanded.

“We got a situation, Lieutenant,” Will answered, never taking his optics off Sam. “Hostile. Moving freely.”

“Designation?” DeMarco asked, sounding remarkably cool and professional all of a sudden.

“One of Sector Seven’s experiments.”

“What’s your twenty?”

“Outside Ratchet’s lab. The hostile is armed and dangerous, Lieutenant. Proceed with caution. Sam and I are trying to contain here.”

“Ten-four. Do you need help?”

“No. Secure the base. Complete lock-down. Nothing gets in or out.”

DeMarco acknowledged and Will turned to Sam again.

“I’m going,” the younger man repeated.

“Bumblebee will skin me alive,” Lennox finally snarled.

“He’ll want mine too, for suggesting this.”

“Sam…”

“Leave it, okay? I’m not a helpless kid. I can defend myself.”

There was such a hard expression in those brown eyes that every Marine would be impressed.

Lennox didn’t argue, but happiness looked different. “Keep your head down,” was all he said.

“Yes, sir!”

The hybrid grimaced. “Okay, soldier, where do we start?”

Sam chuckled, but without humor. “We head for the lab, retrace our steps, and I’ll scan.”

Will flexed his fingers. He was unarmed and clearly unhappy about it. It was why they went to Ironhide’s weapons room first, then doubled back and started their search for the violent creature.

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Topside, Trent had geared up, assault rifle in his hands, heading for the main control station of the base. He knew what to do in case of emergency, be it an inside attack or an outside assault by enemy forces.

After keying in the commands and watching all doors slide shut, he disabled the command program and instead called up internal security to track the intruder, as well as his two comrades. He frowned as he discovered only one human life sign. The other blip was… weird, but there was a third one, moving fast, clearly mechanical in origin and he suspected it was the target.

The human blip, accompanied by the strange one, were following.

And then the screen went dark.

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The Camaro rolled to a stop, scanning the streets, and found nothing amiss. Jazz was currently on the highway, looking into things, keeping a sensor on daily life. Barricade was… somewhere. Bumblebee couldn’t pick him up on his scanners, which didn’t mean he wasn’t there, just hidden.

That the former Decepticon shared a unique connection with Sam as well had irked him a little at first. Then it had been worry, mixed with annoyance, a healthy dose of anger, and some jealousy. Barricade was like a shadow, watching, in his own way kind of protective, and ready to intervene.

For his own reasons. His own agenda. Bumblebee watched him in turn.

He was just about to start back toward the city center when the alarm went off. The Camaro almost froze for a second, then action kicked back in and he accelerated down the road, heading out of Mission City.

Something was wrong at the base. The alarm had gone off, signaling an intruder, a shut-down, and danger.

::Sam!:: he sent, trying to uplink.

Distance had never worked before and it didn’t now. So he tried the normal channels, but to no avail.

Panic filled his spark.

Sam and Will were alone at the base! What if it were Decepticons? What if they had snuck back and found the base and were now attacking? Injuring their human allies, tearing apart their home…

Something inside Bumblebee keened softly.

It couldn’t be Decepticons. They would have known about a crash. They would have picked up signals, right?

The panic spread more and the Camaro raced down the streets, heading back into the desert.

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Trent knew he was up to his neck in trouble when the base security network suddenly came on-line and very, very active. One of the automated cranes moved erratically, then more and more fluidly. Its claws opened and closed, then started to look around for something…

“Holy shit!” he swore when a crate came flying his way.

It shattered behind him, huge splinters raining over him. More airborne objects followed and when he ran, the second crane blocked his way.

“Lennox!” he yelled into his headset. “Something hacked the base network! I repeat, we’ve been breached!”

He only got static in reply.

Communications had been compromised, too. What the fuck was that thing that had revived down there? And how were Lennox and Sam doing against it? He wanted to go and check on them, but he had orders and he knew it was vitally important that he remain upstairs, secure the exits.

Another projectile nearly clipped his head and he ducked behind a crate, desperately trying to think of a way out. Right now, keeping himself conscious and alive was primary on his mind.

And then the fire system went on-line, dousing everything in foam.

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“What the hell…?!” Will exclaimed and ducked again as the attack came from behind instead of from in front.

Something slammed into the wall beside him. A huge sizzling stain showed where half a second before his head had been.

“It’s learning!” Sam shouted. “And it’s using our own weapons against us!”

“Can’t you shut it down?”

“What do you think I’m doing?! Counting rivets in the wall?!”

Lennox reloaded, aiming at their attacker. For all its small size compared to a Cybertronian mech, it was fast and well-armed. A staccato of blasts came back at them and Lennox cursed more colorfully. Luckily for them the robot was apparently only able to take control of small sections of the base, but unluckily enough it were the sections they were in. If they weren’t drowned in sprinkler water, suffocated by foam, or cooked by rising temperatures, the robot was shooting at them. Climate control was on the frizz and currently it was cold and wet. Cold enough to freeze the sprinkler water of before.

“This won’t work. I’ll draw it away, you work on getting into its pea brain and shut it down!” Will yelled at Sam.

The technopath looked pale but composed. While Lennox had the advantage of a rather enduring metal skin, Sam wasn’t so lucky. He was cold, wet, tired and ready to just slide down a wall and never get up again.

Still he nodded. The problem wasn’t the size of the brain, it was the mess it was in. While no mind was orderly, this one was just a jumble of almost alien emotions, most of them sheer terror and fear. Sam had tried to calm the creature down, reason with it, tell it they were friends, but that had ended badly. Will hadn’t said anything about the severity of his resulting injury, and he wasn’t bleeding blood, but there was a sticky fluid on his left side that had Sam sick with worry.

The creature screeched and scuttled for Will, then suddenly jumped. Will yelled and went down, grabbling with the thing. A stinger-like tail buried deep into one thigh. Lennox screamed.

Sam was unwillingly reminded of Aliens again and pushed that image aside, just as he pushed away the sounds of pain.

He had to concentrate. He had to get inside, shut the thing down. These weren’t deliberate shields, these were emotions acting as a barrier.

Eyes on the combatants, he tuned out the destruction all around them and plunged into the creature’s mind.

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For Jazz, being amongst humans was fun. No doubt about it. He loved their music, their movies, their TV shows, their radio broadcasts, their languages, just about everything. Spending time with them, even if he had to hide his true self, was eye-opening. Letting the music of a group of street dancers wash over him, he felt his circuits pulse with the rhythm, the hard beat, the sheer life that was in every musical note.

He felt Barricade’s dark amusement, his barely contained mirth. Where Jazz loved this world and embraced their chosen exile, Barricade watched everything with wariness. He saw the enemy in every stroller with a baby, in every old lady crossing the road, in every beer-bellied businessman. It amused Jazz in turn because despite his misgivings and distrust, Barricade continued to protect those he had chosen in his own way.

::Location?:: he sent to his partner.

What he got were coordinates not far from the base. Barricade had taken to scouting the desert, looking for campers, hikers… trespassers, as he called them. The Army and Air Force made sure that the old base was left alone by the casual hiker, but sometimes people stumbled around the desert, looking for the alien conspiracy proof they were sure was hidden out here. Actually, for the past years, they were right on target.

::Find anything?::

::Nothing:: was the bored reply.

Bored Barricade was something to beware of and Jazz knew his partner might start shooting at rocks and dead trees if bored out of his processor.

::You could head back to base::

::Doing what?::

::Maybe Sam needs some distraction from his dissertation::

Barricade chuckled darkly. ::The way he ripped Ratchet’s head off after the last disturbance, I’d rather not attempt approaching with him in that condition::

Jazz laughed. ::Scared?::

::Terrified:: came the wry reply.

Sam was a force to be reckoned with, even without his technopathy. Jazz respected the young man, what he had achieved, how he had developed in the last years, and he knew it was stressful for Sam at the moment. He was about to reply when the alarm sounded through his systems.

“What in the name of Cybertron…?”

And he shot off back base, calling Sam or Will, getting no reply.

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Trent had taken desperate measures to shut down the two cranes, tearing apart their control modules and taking an ax to it. Sparks spluttered all over the place and through the thick whiteness of the fire-fighting foam he could see the now dead hulks of the cranes. He coughed and wiped foam off his face. Some of it was definitely pink in color, which meant he had been injured.

Huh. Never noticed.

Leaning against the console, Trent took inventory and was surprised to note that his leg hurt, too. His knee, to be precise, and now that he thought of it, he remembered getting a whack on the leg by something hard and unyielding. Adrenaline had worked its magic and let him battle on, but now, with the situation defusing, he was suddenly privy to all the little discomforts.

There was a low rumbling sound. He didn’t flinch when red and blue lights lit up in the foggy distance, somewhere close to the entrance, which was wide open. He listened to the distinctive sound of transformation and met the deep red optics of Barricade with a tired, though still alert expression.

The former Decepticon looked at him for a long moment, then let his optics sweep over the destruction.

“Sam and Will are downstairs,” Trent broke the silence and pushed away from the console, none too steady on his legs. “I lost radio contact.”

There was something of a hiss from deep inside the mech, then he walked past DeMarco without a word. Trent tried to follow, but his knee gave a sharp spike of agony and he grabbed for support, clenching his teeth. Great. Trying to hobble only intensified the pain and he cursed under his breath.

Damnit!

But he limped after the mech, determined not to remain behind. He was a soldier and his comrades were still in danger. As long as he could aim and shoot, he would do so.

* * *

 

Smoke drifted through the room. Hot metal pinged.

Something twitched, sparked, then died with a long-drawn sigh. A screen imploded belatedly.

Lights flickered.

Somewhere in the depths of the base a fire was finally put out by the automatic system.

There was a scuttle of tiny legs, a whirr.

The blast of a powerful weapon incinerated whatever it had been that had tried to escape through the smoke.

Heavy steps crunched metal and other debris underneath.

“Anything?” a tired voice asked.

Sam leaned heavily against what was left of a mech-sized desk. “No,” he replied, equally tired.  
“Can’t sense a thing. It’s dead.”

And so was he. His head was killing him; his shields were nothing but thin papery shadows of before. The bruises were nothing compared to the overall ache of an overtaxed mind. He looked at his hands. They were shaking.

In a corner, the support structure finally gave way and crumbled. Sam flinched. Blue optics loomed over him and Will held out a hand. There were fluids dripping off his arm and his fingers looked burned. While protoforms were resilient, Lennox was only mimicking one. He was still himself underneath.

“Let’s get out of here.”

Sam coughed. “Sounds like a plan.”

Will lifted him and for once, Sam didn’t complain. He doubted his legs would carry him.

It was when they rounded a corner that they saw a looming shadow through the smoke, red optics flaring briefly. Will reacted automatically, raised his gun, but sharp claws grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the wall. Sam had no time to yell as he was unceremoniously dumped and Will slammed his hand under the chin of his attacker.

There was a surprised grunt, then the blurry shape launched itself forward once more, trapping the injured hybrid against the wall, hissing softly. Will moved fast, faster than a human, and was about to deliver another blow himself when red optics flared brightly.

“Use your optics, Lennox,” Barricade snarled angrily.

“Stop sneaking around the base!” Will shot back. “There’s a com line for that!”

The former Decepticon chuckled, then pulled back. He raised one hand and studied the fluids clinging to it. His optics ran over Will’s injured form.

Sam needed the wall to stand up and he knew he would sooner sit down than keel over in a graceless heap.

::Stop gawking:: he sent, his mind-voice the only stable thing about him.

Barricade glared at him. “What happened?” he demanded.

Lennox pushed past him, blue optics bright with anger, exhaustion and pain. “We had some trouble,” was all he said, then offered Sam a lift once more.

Barricade looked around the corridor, rumbled something, then followed them.

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They ran into a foam and dirt covered DeMarco two corners ahead. Trent looked like he was in pain, but from the way he had raised his gun at the sound of someone approaching, he was still clear-headed enough. He lowered the weapon, breathing hard.

“You okay?” he asked.

Sam nodded tiredly. “Yeah.”

Trent looked at the unfamiliar protoform. Like most soldiers he didn’t know much about Lennox’s abilities and the shape-shifting was something not many had asked about, let alone had seen him in that form.

“Major Lennox?” he asked warily.

Blue optics brightened briefly and Will nodded. “You okay to walk?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We got the hostile neutralized,” Will went on.

“Good to hear.” Trent limped gamely after them, but when his leg gave way, he was only saved from falling because someone scooped him up.

Trent shot the Decepticon a dark look. Barricade glared back. Sam and Will exchanged brief looks. Trent didn’t know why Barricade kept such close optics on him, not did he know it had been Barricade who had exacted his revenge for the attack on Sam by placing the false accusations against him. Trent simply reacted to the way Barricade behaved around him.

“You don’t have to carry me,” DeMarco muttered under his breath.

“I can drop you any moment, human, so shut up.”

Trent glowered more, but he winced again when he was place back onto his own two feet the moment they were topside.

“Incoming,” Will announced as he placed Sam next to the lieutenant. “Friendlies,” he added.

Barricade headed through the debris for the main entrance while Lennox shifted back into human form, sinking back against an overturned crate with a groan. He glanced at Trent.

“Nice work, Lieutenant.”

Trent shrugged tiredly. “Thanks, sir.

Sam started to list sideways, eyes sliding shut, and DeMarco dug around his torn and soggy uniform. He finally managed to find something that looked suspiciously like a Snickers bar – after a bad day. Sam took it greedily and wolfed it down, still leaning very much against Trent for support.

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Jazz had turned and driven back to the base at high speed the moment he had received the shut-down alarm. He wasn’t surprised to meet Bumblebee on the way. What did surprise him was the presence of Barricade.

The black mech stood outside the base, arms crossed over his chest, looking almost… casual?

Jazz transformed, briefly checking on any kinds of injuries, but he found nothing. From the narrowing red optics he knew he had been caught worrying. He smirked at his partner.

“What’s going on?” he demanded, the smirk replaced by a very serious expression.

“Where is Sam?” Bumblebee asked almost simultaneously.

“Your human is inside. With Lennox and DeMarco. They are alive,” Barricade growled. “Looks like there was an incident in the lab.”

Jazz walked past the former Decepticon, throwing him an annoyed look. “Incident?”

“I arrived ten minutes before you,” Barricade told him, voice gravelly as he followed. “The humans were breathing, the threat was annihilated.”

Jazz was about to reply when his optics fell on the chaos that had once been the overground base. “Great Cybertron!”

It was a mess. Clear and simple. There was even a door hanging in its hinges leading toward the lower levels. It looked like a firefight had resulted in the fire-fighting system to go off, drowning everything in foam, which had either melted, dissipated, or dried on every available surface.

Barricade just shrugged.

“Sam!” Bumblebee exclaimed and walked quickly over to where his human friend sat, eating a chocolate bar.

Jazz scanned the young man, found multiple bruises, one cut that had been treated, but no broken bones or inner bleeding. He looked rather wet, some foam still clinging to his hair, and he was too pale for a healthy human.

“We’re okay,” Lennox said, sounding exhausted.

He looked worse than Sam, had abrasions on his arms, his face showed bruises and scratches, and his clothes had tears that were crusted in blood. One arm was supporting his left side and his hand looked burned. A thigh was blood-crusted, too. Even through the dirt and blood the runes were clearly visible. The angry way they flared and ran over his skin, Will had to be in a terrible shape.

Next to him sat Lieutenant DeMarco, equally bruised and battered. He was favoring one leg, using an assault rifle as a crutch. There were multiple cuts on his hands and face.

“What happened, Will?” Jazz asked sharply.

“One of Sector Seven’s experiments revived. Whatever Ratchet did while scanning them, I think he accidentally reactivated one over time. It had a rather brief but very violent life span. Got into the security system and hacked the fire controls.”

Jazz gaped at the human. “What?!”

Sam came over, every step spelling exhaustion. He looked ready to keel over and the pinched expression spoke of a major headache. Barricade was studying the young human with narrowed optics and from the way Sam grimaced, he was almost down to his last shield.

“The body shell is in one of the storage chambers,” he said. “It’s completely dead. There’s nothing left. I scanned it.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn and frayed jeans. “It didn’t really attack us, just… tried to get out. It tore apart whatever got in its way.”

“And it nearly got out,” the Solstice muttered, looking at the hangar.

“Yeah.”

“Ratchet’s lab needs complete remodeling,” Lennox commented.

“Along with half of the topside base,” DeMarco added with a grimace.

Jazz nodded at Bumblebee to take care of Sam, get him to eat something, then sleep. From the barely audible protests when the Camaro picked up his human friend, it was the right decision.

“I’m calling Dr. Keyron,” Jazz told DeMarco Lennox, who appeared about to protest.

“I’m fine. I just need a shower and some band-aids,” was the dismissive reply. “I had worse in my active time.”

“Which doesn’t mean you should ignore your injuries, Will. While my knowledge of human anatomy is theoretical only, I can tell that these injuries are severe and need treatment.”

“This is just a toned-down mirror of what the protoform looked like, Jazz. I’ll heal.”

The first lieutenant had suspected something like it, but he hadn’t wanted to ask. Like all he was aware of Will’s shape-shifting abilities, had seen him train with Ironhide. It was only logical he would use the more enduring protoform to confront an enemy.

DeMarco was silent, but he seemed to agree with Lennox on the matter of these being no injuries to fuss over. Jazz’s opinion ran differently and he was calling the shots now.

“We need to secure the dead shell first, check on the rest of Ratchet’s lab, get everything in safe storage,” the ex-Army Ranger went on. “After that I promise I’ll crash for a few hours.”

“Will, you won’t be able to walk anywhere in that condition. Neither are you, Lieutenant DeMarco.”

Lennox gritted his teeth and rose, but before he could take a step he started to sway and his knees buckled. Jazz caught him, scanning the life-signs.

“End of discussion,” the Solstice only said. “You sit here and wait for your medic. Cade and I will take care of matters for now.”

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That was how it went in the end. Jazz and Barricade cleared a path through the debris in the lab, collected all Sector Seven devices and experiments, and boxed them in high-security containers. Jazz refused Will’s help, ordered him to stand down from changing into the protoform to assist, and to just tell them where to go. DeMarco had wrapped an ice pack around his definitely swollen knee and he had given Jazz a brief version of what had happened topside. It was astounding what the three humans had managed to do.

The now deactivated – actually quite literally shot apart – body shell of the revived experiment was placed into a separate box and kept apart from the rest.

Closing the secure door, Jazz keyed in the code. It was the moment Mark Keyron, their human medic, arrived.

“I won’t ask,” the man remarked wryly as he looked about the chaotic base. “And I don’t have to ask where or who my patient is.”

Lennox grimaced, still holding his ribs. “Hello to you too, Doc.”

Keyron looked over at Trent, who looked back with a resigned air around him.

“I see,” was all the doctor remarked and placed his bag on an overturned crate.

Jazz left them alone. For now there was nothing he could do to help.

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::I’m fine, Bee:: Sam sent tiredly, stumbling along the corridor toward his quarters.

::Sure:: came the reply, filled with disbelief and worry.

::Really. Just tired::

And bruised. And headachy. Sam knew he had exerted himself and he was paying for it with every passing hour. By tonight he would either have the mother of all migraines or he would be zoned out from painkillers.

A hand scooped him up and he gave a yell of protest.

“You nearly ran into the wall,” Bumblebee only said.

“Oh.”

Damn.

The mech cradled him close to his chest and Sam rested his aching head against the cool metal. It was nice… comforting. The rest of his body was shutting down and he would probably have the rest of the bruises ache tomorrow when he got up, but for now the adrenaline still kept him mostly pain-free, aside from the headache.

“Sam?”

“Huh?” He blinked. Must have nodded off.

They were inside his quarters, which were nothing but an old storage room remodelled to double as Sam’s second home, away from Mission City, when he was at the base.

“Do you need help cleaning yourself?”

He flushed a little. “No. I can do that. No. Thanks. Uhm…”

Bumblebee set him down and there was a smile in his optics. ::Want me to stay?::

::They’ll need your help cleaning up the mess:: Sam managed, wiping ineffectively at a stain on his ripped shirt. It was a goner. Damn.

::I can stay for a while::

::Okay:: he only answered faintly.

Crawling into bed he fell asleep almost the moment his head, grimy as it was, hit he pillow.

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Bumblebee sat down next to the bed, watching his friend and charge. He opened the connection between them and felt Sam almost automatically slide closer with an exhausted murmur. Smiling, he held him protectively.

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Jazz found Barricade topside. The worst debris had been cleared away and by tomorrow things would probably look even better. Jazz had radioed Epps, had told him what had happened, and the human commander had immediately sent his guys packing to come home. They would arrive throughout the night.

“They did a commendable job,” Barricade rumbled.

“Yeah, they did.” Jazz leaned against the wall, watching the dying light outside. “Looks like your training paid off, Cade. And DeMarco proved himself, hmm?”

The expression in Barricade’s dark face said ‘die’. Jazz grinned a little and bumped shoulders with his partner.

“Optimus, Ratchet and Ironhide are coming back by plane. I told them we had things under control, but…”

“But they don’t trust neither me, nor the fact that their second.-in-command is very well able to handle a minor disturbance,” Barricade finished dryly.

Jazz chuckled. “No. Ratchet’s upset, Ironhide’s furious that security was so easily overwhelmed, and Prime just needs to be here. I think we should just box whatever Sector Seven worked on, bury it, and lose the key to the site.”

“Good plan.”

“So, you want to welcome back the troops and tell them what happened, or you want to keep an eye on our two warriors?”

Red optics flared a little at the choices. None suited Barricade, but when he turned and walked back into the base, Jazz knew he was stuck explaining to Epps and the unit what had happened. He smiled and readied himself for that particular task

 

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“Can’t leave the man alone for an hour,” Epps commented, though his tone of voice suggested it was said in jest.

The rest of the unit milled around, clearly astounded by the destruction wreaked in their absence.

“It’s worse downstairs,” Jazz said.

“Worse?”

“Ratchet’s lab didn’t survive.”

The human groaned. “He’s gonna throw a fit.”

“Probably. Followed by guilt.” Jazz had known the medic long enough. That guilt complex could only be topped by Prime’s sometimes. “Your quarters survived relatively intact.”

“Well, thanks for little things. How are they?”

“Sam’s sleeping. At least I hope so. Bumblebee is with him. Will and the lieutenant are with Dr. Keyron. I think it’ll take a while. Will took quite a beating and Lieutenant DeMarco was busy dodging crates getting thrown at him by the remote-controlled cranes. I think he twisted a knee, among other things.”

Epps nodded. “So we’ve just been promoted to the cleaning crew?”

Jazz chuckled. “No. We will need your help repairing what can be repaired, salvage what’s left, but you’re not here to clean.”

One of Epps’ lieutenant’s approached. “Checked the quarters. Looks good,” he reported. “The men are ready to help where they can.”

“Thanks,” Jazz replied. “I guess we do what we can, sort through the rubble. Barricade and I secured the dead shells and they are under tight lock and key.”

“Good to know.” Epps turned and hollered at his unit to leave their gear and get going. They had work to do.

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Will sat through the examination and treatment with an almost stoic air. Keyron palpated his ribs, announced them fractured in two places, then wrapped them tightly. It drew a wince and a muttered curse. His cut and bruised skin would heal. The laceration on his left arm needed stitches, just like the stab wound in his thigh. The burned hand was cleaned and wrapped.

“Okay,” the doctor announced, stepping back as if to inspect his handiwork. “Nothing fatal, nothing permanent. I know you tend to heal fast, but take it easy, Will. Your protoform might not have translated all injuries to your human form, but you will feel this for the rest of the week.”

“Already can,” Will muttered.

“Which should tell you what to do.”

Lennox nodded. Just getting out of bed had been hard work. He ached everywhere.

“The blood loss isn’t too bad and you’ll need fluids, so drink water, but no coffee or alcohol. The burns need to be kept clean and wrapped, the bandages changed every day. You can come out to Nellis if you need help.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“If you experience any new symptoms, call,” Keyron advised. “You were never injured this badly before. We don’t know what your altered body makes of it.”

“Right now? The same it did the last time I was run over by a Mac truck,” the former Army Ranger groaned.

The other man chuckled. “You know where to reach me. Call. Any time, any day.”

“Yeah. Thanks, doc.”

“No problem.”

Lennox limped out of the treatment room and picked his way around the lingering debris to the miraculously intact common area. One of Epps’ guys was there. When the hell had his former team come back? Somehow his muddled brain wasn’t really forthcoming with an answer.

“Coffee?” the man – Jonas, Will reminded himself – asked.

“Best I heard in the last hours. Thanks.”

Jonas grinned and handed him a mug. “You look like you need it, sir.”

Translation: you look like hell.

“I could use a whole plantation intravenously, without too much water and very strong beans.”

“I don’t know about the intravenous part, but I think we’ve got some of that special brew left that Zack brought with him last week.”

Lennox smiled dreamily as he shuffled over to a comfortable chair and sank inside with a groan.

“Need anything else? I found the fridge intact and it has some cold steaks and sandwiches.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Thanks, Jonas.”

The soldier nodded. “Have you heard anything from DeMarco?”

“Keyron said he’ll be fine. Twisted knee, bruises, the like.”

“Good to know.”

With that he left him alone.

He wouldn’t move again for the next millennium, Will swore to himself.

The down side was, he would have to move to go to his own place, which was currently a really, really bad idea. Unless Epps bodily kicked him out, he would stay here, let the drugs in his body work, let the hybrid cells do their magic.

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Trent hadn’t protested at all when Keyron had told him to find a bed and lie down, get some sleep, and for Pete’s sake take the pain medication. He wasn’t at all averse to pain medication at the moment. He felt every little cut in his body.

There were muffled sounds from outside and he thought he heard people coming and going, but the drowsiness soon changed into sleepiness, and he dropped off quite quickly.

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The cargo plane had landed at Nellis in the middle of the night and three Autobots had driven straight off and back to base, without stopping to say hello. They arrived to find the overground hangar bathed in flood lights and almost ship-shape again. People were busily cleaning up the last remnants of the fight and Bumblebee was there to help when a larger hand was needed.

The lower levels were a different matter and when Ratchet saw his lab, he knew this would take a lot of work. Ironhide had immediately accessed the network and downloaded the security feeds, shaking his head more than once. His second task was to seek out Lennox, who was in his loft-apartment, and checking his health status.

Ironhide had gotten the gist of things from Jazz and what he had seen on the security feed had been enough. While the details were blurry due to the interference from the small bot, there was no mistaking the injuries of the protoform hybrid.

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Will winced as a scan bounced over his skin and the runes flared with indignation. Ironhide’s bright blue optics spoke of his inner agitation and Lennox sighed.

“I’m fine. I’ll heal.”

Another scan washed over him and Lennox bit his lower lip. The bruised feeling didn’t make this very pleasurable, like sandpaper against his skin, and his body reacted on instinct. His skin changed, reflected the scan like an angry fist into Ironhide’s face, and the mech rocked back.

Will breathed a sigh of relief as the scan stopped and for a second it was pure bliss, then he stared at Ironhide, an apology on his lips.

“Sorry,” Ironhide got there first. “I didn’t realize how sensitive you are.”

He wanted to erupt in a fit of anger at being called sensitive, but he was too washed out, too exhausted, too achy. Instead Will just shook his head.

“S okay. Instinct.”

Both their actions had been.

The mech knelt down and Lennox had the impression he wanted to reach out, but was holding himself back.

“I still apologize,” Ironhide replied, sounding strained.

“None of this is your fault and please believe me when I tell you, I’m okay.”

“You’re not. Your injuries are not repaired.”

“Because humans can’t be ‘repaired’. They heal.”

Ironhide made a sound like a sigh. “What happened?” he switched topics. He had learned quite fast that some things just weren’t worth the argument.

Lennox gave him his version of the events and detailed the fight when the mech asked more detailed questions. He even gave Ironhide a run-down of his injuries, though not without That Look in his eyes, which Ironhide had come to associate with ‘I’ll humor you, but don’t you dare blow this out of proportion’ and ‘I’m human. You knew it when you got into it. So don’t give me hell over something I can’t change’.

Ironhide was hard-pressed not to scan again. He really wanted to make sure that his friend was okay, but when Lennox decided to defend himself against scans, there was no getting through.

He finally did reach out, though physically, and one finger carefully caressed the uninjured arm. Runes flared in Will’s face, ancient, cosmic code that Ironhide couldn’t decipher. Brown eyes seemed to shimmer in faint blue light, then Lennox winced a little.

Ironhide drew back, but he just caught himself in time from apologizing again. “Get some rest,” he only said.

“Good idea.” Lennox smiled ruefully. “This’ll take a few days.”

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Ironhide remained with him, going through the security feed, showing Lennox passages when his friend requested them, and they took apart the movement of the shell and its possible motives – if there had been any. Sam had claimed it had been without a spark, had shown only instinctual reactions, and no intelligence.

Lennox nodded off after a while, though he had fought against his exhaustion. Ironhide’s optics studied the smaller human as he lay on the couch, sleeping. There was a thoughtful expression on his face.

Finally he enabled the hardlight hologram, though he didn’t bother with the details. The black, humanoid form walked over to the sleeping human and sat down next to him. A hand touched the bruised skin, as if to explore an unknown type of injury. Brown eyes cracked open, there was a brief smile on Will’s lips, then he closed them again.

Ironhide did what he had learned was a good sensation for his human partner: he stayed physically close, the much smaller hand of the hologram keeping close contact with Lennox.

Only when his internal alarm told him the energon drain was too severe now to ignore the consequences did he dissolve the holographic image.

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At six o’clock in the morning, Trent limped around the semi-restored topside base, looking for a quiet place to sit down and elevate his leg. He had slept as much as was possible with a bum leg and too much going on in his head, then had gotten up. Epps had taken him off duty as long as he was recovering from his injuries, and while DeMarco had argued that he could work his job while sitting down, Epps had only allowed him light duty in case of emergencies. For now supply would be run by two sergeants.

It wasn’t much of a surprise to find Sam with a bowl of what looked like chocolate crunchies in the common area. The other was looking still rather pale and drawn and the way he was eating the sweets it was as if they held the secret to his healing. From what Trent had picked up over the months, and what had made the reports on the incident, he had a pretty good picture that they did. He wasn’t stupid and he listened to people talk. Add to that the reports he had signed and those he had read on the lab incident, he realized that what had Sam had said was true: there were even freakier things than giant alien robots.

He sat down opposite Sam, placed his leg on a cushion on the table, and smiled at Sam.

“Headache?” he asked casually.

“Kinda.” He smiled tiredly.

“You should get some more sleep, Witwicky. Must have been quite draining.”

Sam’s brown eyes suddenly hardened, narrowing suspiciously, and his hand with the crunchies stilled.

“I’m not stupid, Sam,” Trent told him, shifting to relieve some pressure on his leg. “I heard people talk and I read the report on how you two took out the hostile.”

“Trent…”

“Hey, you said it would get more freaky. You were right.” Trent shrugged.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again.

“And I’m not seventeen and about to blab it out to someone,” DeMarco continued. “I’m part of this outfit, have signed the same papers you have, and I’m part of those guys sworn to protect you and the mechs.”

“Yeah.”

“Even if it still takes some getting used to for you,” Trent added with a little jab.

“I trust you to keep me alive,” Sam said quietly. “It’s just a difference between Sam the geek and Sam the technopath.”

“There is?” Trent teased.

It got him a grimace, but the hard expression lifted. Sam rubbed his forehead and sighed.

“Backlash is hell,” he muttered.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Sam regarded him silently for a while. Finally, “No questions about what happened?” he wanted to know.

“No. If you wanna share, I’m listening. But I don’t need to know.”

“Military breeding,” Sam muttered.

Trent chuckled. “You learn fast when it comes to not asking too many questions.”

“Would you want to know?”

Now DeMarco was silent for a moment. “As someone who’s known you since school, yeah, I’d like to know what happened. As the logistician of the base, I don’t need to know anything. As a soldier I’m curious as to the possible implications for any of us involved.”

Sam popped some chocolate into his mouth, then nodded at the fridge. “Beer?”

“Soda pop,” Trent declined. “Pain medication,” he added as an explanation.

When they both had their cold sodas, Sam told him. The long and detailed version, the version that told Trent that there was a matter of trust between them now, a trust deeper than just between two comrades in arms.

Trent listened, his respect of his former ‘enemy’ rising several notches. Barricade had trained the other man? Geee-zus, he thought. The former Decepticon gave him the willies and he still had no idea why Barricade was so fixated on him – in a negative way. It was as if Barricade knew something about Trent that DeMarco didn’t even know himself.

“So you can read machines?” he finally asked.

“In a way. I have an immediate understanding of how a machine works. With the Autobots it’s not so easy, thought. It’s addictive. I… well, we had some accidents.”

“Uh-huh.” Trent massaged his leg. “You’re still full of surprises, Sam.”

“So are you,” Witwicky said seriously.

“I was trained for this.”

“Rampaging robotic experiments from a secret government group?”

“Top of my class,” Trent quipped.

Sam chuckled.

DeMarco just smiled. Ten years ago he wouldn’t have thought he would ever become friends with Sam Witwicky. Eight years ago he wouldn’t have dreamed that his decision to join the Army would get him here. A few months ago he wouldn’t have pictured himself going up against crazy experiments.

Times changed.

Expectations changed.

And people changed.

It had never been more true than with Samuel James Witwicky.

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The base was back to almost normal within twenty-four hours of the arrival of Epps’ team. At least superficially. Nothing good or hopeful could be said about Ratchet’s lab and it would be a while longer until everything was back in working order once more. Ratchet had moved to the spare lab area and was trying to get to the bottom of the incident.

Optimus was another matter. There was no mistaking his guilt.

“We shouldn’t have left you alone,” Prime said, voice filled with remorse.

Sam rolled his eyes, something Will could only whole-heatedly agree to.

“If you hadn’t been here…”

“Then nothing of this would have happened,” Sam finished, interrupting the Autobot leader. “And I mean nothing. There would have been no rogue experiment. If I wasn’t a technopath, I wouldn’t be here, writing my dissertation. Hell, I wouldn’t even be at the base. I might never have decided to study engineering! If my name wasn’t Witwicky, we never would have made contact!”

Optimus knelt down, about to argue more, but Sam wouldn’t let him.

“If Will hadn’t been hit by the Allspark shard, he wouldn’t be here either. If he hadn’t survived Qatar, nothing of this would ever happened! Don’t you see? We were able to defend ourselves because of what we are. Leaving us at the base was no mistake, okay? We’re alive, we managed to subdue the machine.”

“Yes, you did. You did so very well.”

Lennox caught a look of Barricade who appeared almost proud of Sam’s achievement. The young technopath had clearly fulfilled the shock-trooper’s expectations. Will was amazed at his own performance, too, especially how much his body had withstood. The crazed machine had been quite inventive when it came to weaponry.

“And you’re not to blame,” Sam drove the point home. “I can feel the guilt, Prime. It’s not your fault.”

“Sam…”

“No,” the technopath said levelly. “Blame Sector Seven for experimenting or Megatron for crashing on this planet, but not yourself. You’re not to blame for everything!”

There was an electronic sigh and Prime shook his head, but he was smiling.

“I feel responsible for you,” he finally said.

“As a commander, I accept that. As a personal bodyguard, no. You’re not our watchdogs. You can’t coddle us.”

It wasn’t like Bumblebee didn’t give Sam a headache all on his own with his guilt. He had left the base to patrol – because Sam had kicked him out. Sam had made the decision that he wanted to be alone. Who could have known that something like this might happen?

“This couldn’t have been prevented even with any of you guys being here,” Lennox entered the argument. “The lab was unattended. Everything was powered down. The shell activated over time, not just today.”

Ratchet made an unhappy noise. “I never heard of anything like that happening.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Sam insisted. “I’m more than wiling to help you find out what triggered it, but whatever it was, it’s beyond your immediate control.”

Prime rose and nodded. “I believe it was.”

“Good, because I’m tired of listening to you beating yourself up over it.” Sam tapped his temple, indicating he was hearing Prime’s mind-voice without even listening for it. “And I need to work on my dissertation. I don’t think Avery will give me more time because I tell him some kind of secret government experiment from years ago tried to kill me.”

Lennox smirked. “You could try, but the psych ward is one place I wouldn’t want to end up in.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah.” He looked around. “Somehow the U sounds like a safer place at the moment.”

“I’ll drive,” came the immediate offer from Bumblebee.

They were on their way two hours later.

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Will had chosen his usual spot to sit out in the approaching dark. His body had healed and the stab wound, as well as the lacerations, had left only faint marks. Those would disappear, too. The runes were almost invisible tonight. It was cold and he had bundled up, though neither cold nor heat really affected him that badly any more. Changes were still happening and he wondered when it would stop, when he would finally reach what the Allspark was making of him. For now it didn’t make him immune to feeling the aches and pains of injuries received while in protoform. It never had.

Ironhide sat next to the one-story building, only the blue optics visible in the falling night.

“Ratchet’s still beating himself up over this,” Lennox remarked softly.

A grunt answered him.

“It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t know. Too many factors played together.”

The optics focused on him. “He knows that. Still he endangered you two.”

“We’re not helpless, Ironhide,” Lennox repeated what he had told several Autobots over the last few hours already.

Humans had driven off Scorponok; humans had brought down mechs the size of Devastator and Blackout. Humans were resilient enough not to break when a giant robot swatted at them.

“I know that.”

“Then stop implying it, okay?”

He felt tired of being treated like some liability. It made him angry. It made him want to throw it all at their feet, tell them to shove off, to leave him the hell alone. Will knew he was irrational, but he had never been a liability or a weakness in his life, never to his team, never in a team, never in a battle.

A blunt finger tip stroked over his back. He tried not to move into the touch, but it was hard to suppress that need.

“Your eyes,” Ironhide murmured when Lennox shot him a look.

Glowing. Right. They were glowing. Telling his friend about Lennox’s boiling temper.

He clenched his hands into fists, watched runes flicker over the skin. They were almost invisible in the fading light.

“You are a respected warrior, William Lennox,” Ironhide told him, never stopping his touch. “I would trust you with my life and already have. What Ratchet feels is his own failing because he underestimated a situation. He is a very curious mech when it comes to research. As for Prime, he feels this way about everyone under his command. He also has this penchant for shouldering guilt.”

Will sighed. He enjoyed the touch, despite the fact that as a human he shouldn’t be used to it. Sarah’s hands had been small and soft; Ironhide’s hand was large enough to surround him. One finger was all he could use for caresses and Will wasn’t even sure when his friend had adopted the habit to do so. He enjoyed it, though.

“And myself, I know you are good. I trained you. I know you can handle yourself. I know Sam can handle himself. Still, I worried.”

Lennox nodded. “I know, I know, and I’m sorry. It’s just… sometimes I think you forget that we humans survived a lot to come this far. We are more resilient than you think.”

“No, we don’t forget. We know your history. Both you and Sam are more than human, too.”

He shivered, but the finger on his back was warm and comforting.

“How damaged was the protoform shell?” Ironhide wanted to know.

“Dented, scratched… something tore in my side. It’s why my ribs ached. The stinger of that thing penetrated one thigh, but there wasn’t a lot of damage. I really need to work on modifying my shield shell.”

“You lost control?”

“Yeah. Under pressure. Damn embarrassing.”

The caress stopped and Lennox missed it immediately. He met the blue optics. Ironhide’s expression was misgiving.

“Your change happened just over a planetary year ago, Will Lennox. You can’t expect to be perfect right from the start.”

“How long did it take you to become the warrior you are?”

Ironhide chuckled. “A very long time, my friend, and I’m still learning. We never stop learning and you have a long road ahead of you.”

“And I can see the happy gleam in your optics. You enjoy beating me up in training,” Will remarked dryly.

Ironhide leaned closer. “You make it enjoyable.”

Lennox grimaced. Ironhide touched him gently, running a calming finger over his back. The runes seemed to quiet down and Will glared at them. Treacherous things! But he felt calmer and it translated into the glyphs hovering docile just under his skin.

“You should recharge inside, Will,” Ironhide murmured.

It was tempting. So very tempting.

“I’m fine out here. I need the space, ‘hide. For now at least.” He raised his eye brows. “Or is that a blatant Cybertronian come-on to get me to bed?”

The mech snorted. “First of all, no bed…”

“Yes, yes, all right, stop it!” Will laughed. “I understand. And believe me, I’d love to take you up on that particular offer – if you made it, that is. But at the moment I’m rather careful about the protoform shape.”

“Understandable. But you should let Ratchet check you out in protoform shape.”

“Later. Not now. Or tonight.”

Ironhide nodded. Silence descended between them. It was a comfortable silence, one Will enjoyed, and from the soft glow in the blue optics, so did Ironhide.

lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooollllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll

In the end Will sat inside the comfortable cab of the Topkick, leaning against the side panel, watching the stars, feeling Ironhide’s soft hum, almost a purr. It was a noise he had come to associate with his friend relaxing, when systems powered down, when processors used less energon, and when Ironhide reached something a human might call inner peace.

He rested one hand against Ironhide’s frame, felt them connect, but not in any way ever initiated by sharing. It was like sliding closer, without the need and hunger of a sharing, and he dropped his head back, smiling a little.

The hum increased, filled with warmth and pleasure.

Will let himself slide even closer, wrapped in Ironhide’s very presence, and shared something else, something new, something humans would call a hug or a cuddle, something mechanoids had no term for.

The runes brightened now and then, pulsing, relaying Lennox’s state of mind, his emotions.

Sometimes new things about himself, about them, weren’t so bad, he mused. Not bad at all.


End file.
